


To the Memory of Sebastian Michaelis

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Kuroshitsuji: Book of Murder, Long, Long for me, Sad, longish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: To the Memory ofSebastian MichaelisDied March, 1889May you be in heaven an hourbefore the devil knows you're dead





	To the Memory of Sebastian Michaelis

 The casket was surprisingly light.

 

The butler had always been larger than life. He towered over everyone – Mr. Agni was the only one who dared to match his height. When they'd seen him laid out on the floor, so undignified for the proper man, he'd seemed frightfully small. Yes, he was tall. The way he had been stretched out made him seem even more so. But he had been frightfully thin, willowy like a tree branch. Porcelain skin pulled taut over delicate bones, and they became aware that no one had ever seen him eat. He'd never been seen tasting the foods he made, had never joined them for meals. But, somehow, his casket, despite its thick wood and heavy contents, seemed to float on their shoulders.

 

It had been Finni who found him. The poor boy had nearly dropped dead of a heart attack, his screaming had awakened most everyone, aside from the Master and the author to whom he was chained.

 

The Master had been something else. The boy, normally so cold and stoic, the perfect nobleman, showed his age. Straddling the man, slapping him, pleading with him to get up, Sebastian,  _get up!_ It was futile, but they'd been struck mute and dumb with pity and horror.

 

He looked so pale against the white flowers. Lilies, pure white ones that the butler had tended with his own hands. Humility and devotion. That was what lily's were said to represent. For as long as they'd known him, serving the Master even without a servant's trademark humility.

 

And, perhaps most importantly, they symbolized redemption – that the deceased's innocence had been restored, any sins forgiven, upon their death. He needed it – they all needed it. They didn't know anything about him – anything from before his arrival at the Manor. Where he was born, what month he was born in, whether he had any family. But Phantomhive Manor attracted broken people like a rich man attracted hangers-on, and so it stood to reason that he needed redemption as much as anyone. As much as the Gardener, whom had destroyed many of his friends with his own hands. As much as the Maid, who had killed so many people she'd long lost count. As much as the Chef, whom had slaughtered and cut down entire armies. As much as the Steward, whom had committed far too many sins under the previous Master.

 

It had felt wrong when they'd stripped him. It felt like they'd shown him disrespect – had been showing him disrespect since they'd discovered him. Stripping him naked in search of keys. Allowing the leaky ceiling to drip on him. Nearly dropping him as they carried him down the stairs.

 

The clothes had felt like a part of him, When someone said 'Sebastian Michaelis', what came to mind was a tall man – boy? How old was he, anyways? - Yet another thing they did not know about him -, with raven-dark hair, harsh, wine-red eyes, a devilish smirk. A long black swallow-tail coat. Fitted pants. It was as much a part of him as his name.

 

So it went without saying that he would be buried in them. Tanaka had laundered them, paying more care than he ever had before. They were starched to stiffness, so they would remain to the butler's standard. Of course, he wasn't around to care anymore, but it wouldn't feel right for him to ever look slovenly.

 

For a long moment, they all simply stood there, staring at the butler, trying to commit him to memory. A delicate, finely arched nose. High cheekbones, a sharp chin. Undertaker had done a fantastic job – he could have been sleeping. Enjoying a lazy day off, though they'd never known him to be lazy.

 

With an awful scraping sound, the casket was closed, sealing their Butler away forever. Tanaka had done it, it only felt right for him to do so.

 

For once, they didn't mess up. They didn't argue, or stumble, or fight. They didn't need someone to give them directions. Undertaker led the way. Agni took his rightmost shoulder. The Prince had been inconsolable when he'd been told the news, no matter how much he feared the man. Sebastian was important to his Little Brother, and that was all that mattered. And, despite Agni's best attempts to remain strong for his Prince, the man, too, broke down over the loss of his Dear Friend.

 

Baldroy had taken the bottom right corner, Finnian taking the left. The poor boy was in a daze, eyes hazy as he'd stared at nothing. He'd sworn, after joining the household, that he would never witness the death of another friend. He'd been wrong.

 

Outwardly, Baldroy was unaffected. A former soldier, he'd attended far too many funerals, and he didn't intend on shaming the Butler by losing his composer. He had sworn, upon being rescued by the butler, that he would never attend the funeral of another comrade. He had been wrong.

 

The Master and Lady Elizabeth walked slightly behind the coffin, and to the right. Looking at the Master, it was hard to believe that this was the child who'd had a meltdown only a few days passed. He looked like he was merely taking a stroll through the gardens with his betrothed. Lady Elizabeth, however, was a different story.

 

It didn't feel right, to see the girl wearing dark colors. She was known for her clothing, all frilly dresses and girly colors. But there she walked, in a plain black dress, and a matching hat with pieces of a mourner's veil. Her nose was red, her eyes bloodshot, and tear tracks were obvious on her cheeks.

 

Tanaka had taken the remaining corner. His shoulders were back and his head was high. It was hard for him to believe, to accept, that the butler was dead. As severe as Sebastian was, he knew he cared. He had intended to train up the butler to take over for him when he was gone. Now, that wasn't possible.

 

Mey-rin walked behind the procession, like her Master and the Lady, but to the left. She refused to show Sebastian any disrespect, and had even taken off her glasses.

 

These were all the people who were important to him. His co-workers, his Master, the Master's betrothed, and a single friend. No matter how hard they had looked, they could find no signs of friends, or even family. Their butler was completely along in the world, aside from them. Finnian had his birds and animals. Baldroy still wrote to his mother back home. Mey-rin often received letters from her Sisters, fellow assassins she was trying to find good, honest work for in England. They all had each other. Sebastian had only had the occasional stray cat.

 

The grave appeared too soon. It was located in the servant's section of the estate's graveyard. While on many estates, the servant's graveyard would be neglected and rundown, even more-so when compared to the pristine graves of the past nobility. But here the entire graveyard was pristine. Well, almost. It hadn't been tended to since the night before the party. But the servant's graves were not damaged. They were not chipped or cracked, entangled in moss or weeds. Although they were not nearly as fancy or ornate, they were in the same condition as the noble's graves.

 

With a care and precision none of them believed themselves capable of, they lowered the casket down into the waiting grave. It didn't feel right. They wanted to bring it back up, to open it and force him awake. Feel him breathe as he chastised them for losing their composer. But he was dead. And even Sebastian couldn't raise the dead – especially not himself.

 

The ceremony seemed short. It didn't bear the usual pomp and tangents that most funerals did. When asked, the Young Master would say tat Sebastian was not a Godly man. That it would have been disrespectful to force a religion he didn't believe in onto his last farewell, and the celebration of his life.

 

And then, with no speeches or eulogies, only the parting words of Undertaker, it was over.

 

Elizabeth railed against Sebastian, calling him a liar. And it hurt, Mr. Sebastian had never lied. But they knew she was hurting, as they were. Mey-rin cried silent tears. Finnian sobbed shamelessly. Baldroy pressed against his eyes, trying to force away traitorous tears. Tanaka looked on mournfully.

 

The Master herded them towards the Manor, saying Sebastian wouldn't want them to linger.

 

As they walked away, they all looked back at the gravestone.

 

_To the Memory of_

_Sebastian Michaelis_

_Died March, 1889_

_May you be in heaven an hour_

_before the devil knows you're dead_

 

As they walked away, a grave bell began to ring.

 

 


End file.
